


First Steps

by Swish42



Series: Shattered Soul Series [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Gen, He goes by WingDings, Human-Monster War (Undertale), Searching for the pieces of his shattered soul, Time Travel, child gaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-01-23 03:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18541552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swish42/pseuds/Swish42
Summary: A young skeleton starts off on an adventure to find the missing pieces of his soul. Problem is, he's only four years old traveling in a strange and dangerous time.





	1. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first story I’ve written for Undertale which is inspired not only by the game, but the many theories surrounding W.D. Gaster. I hope someone aside from Wyn and Clang55 can enjoy this. I’ll do my best.

                                                                                   

There were better days to take a stroll in the woods, but you can’t be prepared for everything when striking out on an adventure. This is what the young monster of the mature age of four years proudly told himself before setting out that very morning. A blanket of white is swirling around him like a paint brush wiping a canvas clean with the skeletal black trees offering a stark contrast to the snow and bleached winter sky. Shaking violently from the cold, the boy slowly plows his way through the high snow, his white bone all but overtaken by the blustery sheet of white that surrounds him.

He strikes an odd sight wearing his striped shirt of purple and black, tennis shoes and green cargo shorts which are all but obscured by the impressive piles of snow. He dressed himself this morning, thus the strange color combination, but they are his favorite colors. At the time he’d thought he did a pretty good job, until he ended up plop in a foot of snow.

Holding his arms close to himself the young WingDings Gaster feels the pinch of dread as he admits to himself that perhaps he isn’t quite as ready as he thought to take on this journey. Normally, Frisk is the one who travels world to world, time to time, but he wanted his chance. As the chill of fear spreads through his shaking limbs and reaches its chilled fingers for his center a familiar burn of determination shoots through him melting the freezing dread that threatens to immobilize him. He takes a step forward filled with more determination than he ought to have while completely alone. Blankets of snow and naked trees are hardly acceptable companionship after all.

Sadly fear isn’t the only thing that has the power to halt his steps as a pile of snow shakes free from the spindly branches high above his head. With a silent yelp, the small boy is knocked over by the heavy snow and buried within an icy prison. Now burning with panic the boy digs his inefficient skeletal hands into the icy bars encasing him, only to find more snow beyond. If he had saliva to spit with he would use it to tell which way is down, but alas he is nothing but bone and magic waiting to dust.

Realizing he is out of options WingDings does what he always considers to be a last resort when in trouble. He calls for help. “IS ANyOnE THerE?” he yells as loud as he can manage with his odd clicking and buzzing voice. Cringing at the sound of himself he tries again. “HeLp, I NeeD HelP.”

It is no surprise to him that there is no answer, only the crinkling sound of shifting snow and the wind pulling through the trees spindly fingers. The silence does not dissuade him and he continues to call out for help while digging through the snow for three hours. The red magic of his battered soul strings like veins through his limbs as he continue to call out with determination driving his every move. He finally manages to break free of the snow, but he continues to call out when he sees the golden light of the setting sun cut past the clouds and through the trees.

When night sets in he climbs a tree as far up as he can go, which is only the first branch, unable to go further with his frozen limbs. The only thing keeping him from freezing is the hot buzz of determination lining his bones. Pulling at his soul he checks his stats like his brothers taught him and if not for the burn of frost clinging to him tears would pool at the corners of his eyes. He calls out again his voice nothing but a buzz of warbled beeps and dial tone noises as he clings to the tree like a life line.

His call for help becomes cries of apologies for leaving home without permission as his soul calls out for another.

As he falls from his branch completely spent his soul’s desperate cry is finally heard.

With heavy lids WingDings looks up into the blackness of a hooded stranger. He can see no eyes beyond the brim of the shadows cloak, but he reaches out to them like any young child would when lost and alone. The figure doesn’t hesitate to take his hand and moves the child safely under their cloak holding them close to their warm chest.

Having found sanctuary at last the exhausted boy falls unconscious, the red burn of his limbs returning to his broken soul

When he wakes, WingDings is being held by something blissfully warm, swaddled in thick itchy cloth with the gentle glow of a flame dancing behind his eyelids. Trying to shift and ease the tension of the cloth encasing him the boy is impeded by his endeavor as the person holding him tightens their grip. “Be still,” a familiar voice tells him, the voice is a gentle hum with cracks and clicks one would recognizing from a dancing flame.

“mister grillby?” WingDings asks softly, prying his eyes open. He nearly whispers the words not only because he’s feeling rather weak, but to keep his voice from becoming a garbled mess. If he wasn’t trying to conserve his energy he would use his magic hands to communicate, he chooses to use his ugly voice for once.  
The fire elemental’s flame sparks in mild surprise, a quality WingDings has rarely seen from the calm monster. It may be a trick of the light but the little skeleton’s smile widens a fraction at the sight.

“Have we met?” Grillby asks, shifting the child in his arms and holding him a bit closer to his bare chest.

Now it is WingDings turn to look confused. He searches Grillby’s golden eyes for some sort of familiarity but doesn’t find it. WingDings looks away at the fire pit burning not too far away, watching the flames dance and crack much like the being that is holding him. Confused and hurt by the monster’s remark, the skeleton closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nasal cavity.

Hunching forward, the young fire elemental tries to find the skeleton’s eye lights again, but the child refuses to look at him. A hissing crackle leaves his lips and he turns WingDings around so he is upright and rests his back against his chest. “You need to eat,” he tells the boy.

He gets no reply. WingDings is lost in his four year old mind trying to make sense of why a close family friend doesn’t know him.

Grillby doesn’t press the tiny skeleton and proceeds to feed him some magical broth. Without comment or protest, WingDings allows the flame to give him food while lost in his own mind and staring blankly at the shadows cast by the flames on the wall of the humble plaster and rock made home.

“How is he?” a female voice asks from their left.

“He’s awake,” Grillby answers.

“River found the child just in time,” she sighs, coming to kneel beside them.

Blinking slowly, as if waking from a dream, WingDings eye lights wander towards the visitor. He doesn’t recognize the hedgehog like monster kneeling on her stubby legs. “You are quite lucky child,” she tells him with soft green eyes. “My name is Asher and this is Grillby. Can you tell us your name?”

For a long time he stares at her, declining to say anything while he sorts out what he should say. Grillby and Asher share a quick glance, a mere blink of concern, but they remain patient. When he finds the words he needs WingDings answers. “WingDings Gaster Ma’am.”

“Gaster?” Asher repeats the surname eyes narrowing briefly before she corrects her expression into one of encouragement. “Are you by chance related to the Aster family?”

While WingDings can appreciate Asher’s kindness, he is irritated by it since it might get in the way of receiving honest answers. He’s a big boy he can take it.

Or so he believes.

“Maybe,” he answers simply. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the East Base monster camp between the Skint River and Mount Everim,” she answers. “We are stationed here for the winter.”

If the child could nod his head he would, but Grillby still has him bundled up tight. He takes a sip of the broth Grillby is offering him, careful not to open his mouth so his teeth won’t touch the wooden spoon as he considers what this means.

“Is your family close by?” Asher asks.

Like with every answer the child gives his small audience is forced to wait for him to think of the words before he answers. “No, ma’am,” he says politely, secretly proud of his ability to be understood clearly.

“Where are they?” she presses.

WingDings doesn’t know how to answer and says, “Far away . . . ma’am.”

Asher’s calm façade drops momentarily as she sighs at this less than helpful news. The young child is not giving her much to work with, but WingDings can’t help it. He’s been taught to be honest, to be polite, but he doesn’t know how to tell her he’s from another place. Another time. Another world. He barely understands it himself.

But he’s starting to.

And it isn’t at all what he imagined.

“I’ll send a messenger to the Skeleton camp and see if they are missing a child, he'll be grateful for the work,” Asher tells Grillby. “Stay with the boy and keep him warm and fed. As far as I know Skeleton monsters aren’t as susceptible to the cold, but his bones are cracked from where they froze over. It isn’t good for such a young skeleton to be out in the freezing snow.”

“Snow is just one danger,” Grillby remarks steadily.

Leaning forward to take another sip of soup WingDings is half way there when his head slumps forward and he falls asleep. Right when the conversation is getting interesting.

Next time he wakes up, WingDings is lying close to the fire pit still bundled in blankets. Coughing from the smoke and dry air, he turns from the flame and instantly regrets it as the cold room nips at his face. Clicking his teeth in irritation, WingDings sits up and faces the flame again, covering the lower portion of his face with the blanket.

Outside the rickety wooden door WingDings can make out the clang of metal and the calls of rushing monsters. He ignores them, choosing to stare at the fire while his thoughts wander. Clenching his eyes he takes a deep breath and tries to keep calm. Since he’s only four he is unable to remain focused long and finds himself gazing at the fire again lost in thoughts he won’t remember minutes later.

When the door bursts open, WingDings startles from his stupor and falls over onto his side. “I’m sorry child,” Grillby’s smooth voice soothes as he wrenches open a wardrobe and drops a heavy satchel onto the dirt floor. He pulls out several layers of large clothing from the wardrobe as he flings off what he is currently wearing. The sizzle of evaporating water steams off from Grillby’s clothes as he changes into something dry and heavier.

WingDings watches in bewilderment, the noise and clatter of the outside world making his soul rattle with unease. He doesn’t know or understand what is happening, but feels anxiety in Grilly’s rushed actions and focused gaze. As soon as Grillby is finished changing into his traveling clothes, he opens the satchel and moves towards WingDings. “You need to change,” he tells the boy, reaching forward to unwrap the child from his cocoon blanket.

While a little uncomfortable at being in the nude, he’s only four and isn’t as bothered by it as someone a little older would be. He allows Grillby to cloth him, not understanding the complicated underclothes, britches, boots, and everything else. He’s even given an ill fitting hat and coat. All of it is much too large for him, but he doesn’t complain as Grillby picks him up and puts him against his chest.

“Wrap your arms around my neck,” Grillby instructs the child. The small skeleton easily complies even as Grillby pulls at the cloak around them, covering WingDings completely. If not for the warm glow of Grillby’s neck, WingDings would have panicked from being put in the dark so suddenly.

Hustling out of the shack, Grillby doesn’t bother closing and locking the door behind him as he races through the camp. WingDings can hear the harsh commands of soldiers go out as they pack and the harsh clang of metal as they arm themselves.

“Captain!” a familiar female voice calls their attention. The fire elemental slows his pace, but doesn’t stop as the huffing female falls into step beside them.

“The remaining skeletons are seeking shelter at the royal camp, take him there.”

“I should stay,” Grillby says.

“You have your orders,” is her firm reply, only a hint of the patient monster simmering beneath her clipped tone. “Winter is no place for Fire Elementals.” She says the phrase as if she’s told him the same thing several dozen times and Grillby grunts in annoyance.

Aside from the flaming soldiers grunt he gives no complaint and runs as fast as he can out of the camp with WingDings tiny hands clutching him tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first installment of this series will be very short, roughly only 12K, but the story as a whole is well over 400K and I’m not even halfway done with it. I’ve been working on this story since 2017 and after much encouragement I’m finally starting to post it.
> 
> As for this installment, it is probably obvious, but WingDings is four years old. He’s pretty smart as far as four year old’s go, but I’ve met quite a few smart kids so for me this isn’t unbelievable. There is a bunch of stuff I could explain, but I should wait. Thank for your time, have a nice day.


	2. War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look it’s another! Hooray for little achievement.

Grillby isn’t a swift monster, but he has plenty of stamina as he races through the dense woods and cracked landscape. They only stop occasionally to eat, but most of the time WingDings is left munching on hard bacon and tack while clamped onto Grillby.

While it is perhaps cumbersome to carry the child on his front, Grillby will not risk placing the baby bones on his back where an unseen arrow or blade can get him. WingDings doesn’t understand what a war is, but he is learning to understand what it feels like. Even in the silent calm forest he can feel the urge and alert unease in Grillby’s cracking flames. Whatever war is, the young skeleton doesn’t like it.

For three days Grillby travels with WingDings, sometimes clutching the boy when his little arms give out. The child is content to keep clutching Grillby as he moves through the dead forest until something tugs at his soul. It isn’t like anything he’s felt before and it is so startling that he releases Grillby’s neck in favor of holding his own rib cage.

Feeling the child give from under him, Grillby slides to a stop and fumbles to catch WingDings before he tumbles out from beneath his cloak. “WingDings what’s wrong?” the soldier asks quietly, holding the boy close.

Rather than answer another group of voices gives call over the snowy hill. It sounds like two people arguing, but they are not close enough for WingDings to discern what is being said. Hunching down low, Grillby holds the skeleton with one hand as he reaches back for something from his pouch. Inching along as quietly as he can, Grillby stops behind a tree at the crest of a hill and glances down.

WingDings cannot see what Grillby does, but he can feel his soul burn in recognition. Whatever is out there it isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Necessarily.

“I told you, I’m a doctor,” a young tenor says in a voice that clips with sharp beeps and sizzles. “I won’t do any harm to your persons.”

“But you’re a skeleton, a hellion” a harsh male tone shouts back.

“He’s still a man of healing,” another, older voice replies. “It’s bad luck to kill a doctor.”

“Oh I’ll have none of your superstitious drivel,” the first cries back.

“Says the one who thinks I’m damned because I’m a skeleton,” says the doctor.

“Shut it!” there is a loud snap and a groan as the skeleton is struck.

“Wait here, don’t move or watch,” Grillby instructs and leaves WingDings in the heavy cloak behind a tree. It takes a moment for WingDings to wrestle out of the large cloth, but as soon as he does, he’s peeking over the edge of a large tree root to watch what happens like every four year old would do when told not to.

He see’s two human men standing at swords length away from a young skeleton monster who is dressed completely in black with a strange mask hanging awkwardly against his shoulder. It looks like a bird’s face, with a long thin beak and round dark eye holes. One of the men is wearing sharp armor with his sword drawn, his oily fiery red hair covering half his face. The other is slumped wearily, while merely fingering his sword still in his scabbard. His features are drawn and tired, with a grey beard frozen stiffly to his chin.

Grillby is close by, hiding behind a tree, dimming his flames as much as he can. It shocks the child, having never seen the fire elemental attempt to quell his proud fire. Carefully Grillby slides to another tree. He makes it, but the moving snow garners the old man’s attention who looks towards them.  
The wounded skeleton also notices and quickly speaks up again. “God is sure to judge you harshly for killing an innocent man,” the skeleton says, which easily distracts the already conflicted elder.

With a harsh kick the younger man hits the skeleton who releases a pained wheeze. “You’re no man! You’re a demon spawn! Death itself!” He cries fervently. “We’ll kill all you skeleton’s, defeat death itself.”

Rather than stay quiet a wet cackle instead erupts from the doctor which makes WingDings stiffen uncomfortably. “Ha, wasn’t death defeated by the savior? Or are you claiming to be God?”

A curse word WingDings had never heard before comes from the furious soldier who raises his sword in a killing blow. Right as the blade is about to come down a blaze of fire streaks through the air and bares down on the soldier. Before WingDings can see the gruesome sight fully, the doctor raises a hand and a wall of thick bones bars him from witnessing the killing blows. All he can hear are the men’s screams as they are cut down.

With tears in his eyes, WingDings tries to block out their cries, holding his hole ridden hands up ineffectively where his ears would be. The child stares at the bones in horror, the muffled sounds of the fight and his own shifting bones offering a callous noise in his skull.

“WingDings.”

He doesn’t respond, thinking he might be imagining the concerned voice.

“WingDings.”

It persists, but he can’t bring himself to move.

“WingDings,” a figure removes his hands from his head and he can hear Grillby’s voice clearly.

With wide eyes, the skeleton child looks at Grillby in a haze, tears streaking his cheeks. He doesn’t understand what has happened and he doesn’t understand what he is feeling, but he is terrified.

“I told you not to watch,” Grillby says mournfully. His yellow eyes are barely visible as he cautiously rubs the tears from WingDings cheeks.

“He was spared the worst of it, thanks to me,” the doctor assures Grillby. The skeleton, who is sporting a bruised skull, is standing tall and proud with a hand planted firmly on his boney hip. “But I cannot spare you that horrid name child. Seems you and I both will be cursed to live our lives with it.”

The doctor’s comments are so bizarre that WingDings is snapped out of his fear. Honestly he very much enjoys his name despite some difficulties it presents when speaking clearly. Although some children at school laugh at him because of how strange it sounds.

“Your name is WingDings?” Grillby asks with an unseen raised brow. Evidently WingDings isn’t the only one befuddled by the skeleton doctors’ words.

“Doctor WingDings Aster at your service,” the doctor offers Grillby a straight bow at the hip. “I was on my way to visit my family when those scouts tracked me down. You have my thanks and gratitude for your timely interference.”

“It is my duty,” Grillby informs him standing with the child in his arms. He positions the boy to his chest so he can take hold before reattaching the cloak.

“But you are with child, surely it would have been better to prioritize his life over mine,” Doctor Aster tells him. WingDings can barely see the doctor through the cloak but he can feel Grillby’s irritation as he heats beneath him. “You deserve many thanks. I am in your debt.”

“Hmm,” Grillby grumbles. “I’m sorry to be messenger of bad news, but the Aster settlement was attacked. Its best you come with us to the royal camp. The crusaders are bent on wiping the skeletons off the face of the earth.” Although his words are clipped, Wingdings is surprised by how much the fire elemental is saying. Typically the monster speaks only when he has to and when he does he says the bare minimum.

To WingDings and Grillby’s surprise the young doctor becomes silent, his jovial disposition snuffed out like a candle. “I’m in your care,” he finally says solemnly and turns towards his new destination.

The crack and snap of Grillby’s flames lingers in the air before the small company makes for the Royal camp. As they travel they only stumble across one group of scouts which Grillby easily decimates, only this time WingDings isn’t anywhere close to the event as the doctor takes care of him. As they wait, Doctor Gaster asks WingDings a seemingly strange question.

“How is it you’ve come to this place child?” he asks quietly, his young features appearing drawn for once as he becomes sober.

Carefully WingDings considers the doctors words, trying to find the words he needs so he can be understood while also wondering if he’s understanding the question correctly. When he doesn’t answer immediately Doctor Aster encourages him. “If you wish to speak in hands or WingDings I can understand you,” he says.

With eyes brightening, even if his small smile remains unchanged, WingDings answers with his hands and strange voice. “Grillby brought me here,” he says.

“And before that?” the Doctor asks with his hands.

WingDings looks away and presses his lips tightly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Aster tells him, rubbing the child’s head fondly. “You’re bound to find trouble, that’s what my pa would say.”

“But I have to!” WingDings says, a blaze of red coloring his eyes. “I need to.”

Black eyes going wide the Doctor stares at WingDings in surprise before smiling at him. “But you’re still a child. And you should stay a child while you can.”

“Aren’t you still a child?” WingDings asks, lifting a brow in question. The skeleton might be tall, but he looks and acts like a teenager.

“I forget how insightful I was even as a babe,” Aster laughs softly, more aware of their present danger than WingDings is. “I don’t have the luxury of staying a child little me, but even I have people I can depend on. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” WingDings says softly. “But I can do more.” He is convinced of this fact and it shows as he looks in Asters eyes with more assurance than can be held by a grown man.

“Heh, if I knew God blessed me with such an adorably face I would have made better use of it at your age,” Aster flicks a skeletal finger against WingDings nose ridge making the boy furrow his brow and frown. “I’m sure you can do a lot and you will, but . . .” Asters eye lights grow narrow like a snakes while glowing an eerie yellow. “That’s only if you live long enough.”

A shiver passes from WingDings soul and out across his bones. Not from Aster’s words since he barely understands it, but from the magic in the doctor’s eyes. It says much more and warns him in a way words cannot.

When Grillby returns he is none the wiser to their conversation and Doctor Aster continues talking as if nothing happened. Granted the teenager does most of the talking, but it fills the silence well enough. WingDings refuses to cry, but he misses his home and family. Grillby’s warmth and kindness keeps him feeling safe, but it isn’t the same.

                                                                         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there are two WingDings Gaster’s. Hopefully this doesn’t come as a shock. I think they are both taking it rather well all things considered. This chapter is a little dark, but I think that can be excused considering this story takes place during the monster human war and this will be the darkest moment in this particular installment.  
> Thanks for dropping by.


	3. Home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which WingDings meets more skeletons.

Three days later they reach the Royal camp which is bustling with activity and noise. The muddy paths are lined with wounded and dying monster, as nurses and doctors rush to treat them. They part ways with Doctor Aster who immediately gets to work doing what he can for the ailing monsters. He assures his new friends that he’ll find them later. Grillby doesn’t appear thrilled by this promise, but WingDings is encouraged. Something about the teenage doctor draws him in, despite his unnerving words and brash arrogance.

As they walk through the camp WingDings in nearly overcome by the horrid smell. It smells worse than a farm or rotting vegetables, comparable to the smell of feces and dust. The camp itself is rather permanent, somewhat stable buildings made of rock and clay line cobbled lane roads. Iron lanterns are nailed into the buildings giving a gentle glow as the streets darkened with the heavy clouds and a setting sun.

“Captain, I heard you arrived,” a well dressed turtle says as they continue deeper into the camp. “I also heard you found our bold Doctor Aster, the prince was hoping he was still alive.”

“What’s the news General?” Grillby asks with a dip of his burning head.

“I wish we didn’t have any,Wa ha ha,” the turtle monster laughs gruffly and there is no humor in his eye. He takes note of the child in Grillby’s arms and does his best to retain some control. “Despite the cold, the humans continue to press us out of desperation. They’ve decimated several skeleton communities and rumor has it they’ve learned magic. Magic of all things! Even when their religion damns them from doing so.”

Midway through the general’s speech Grillby is covering WingDings ears, but the skeleton hears it all perfectly. “What are your orders sir,” the fire elemental asks when the general is finished ranting.

“Go to the skeleton’s sector and see if you can find the child’s family,” the monster tells him quickly. “If you don’t find them, which I doubt you will, they might take him in. If not take him to Nyan, at the west stables.” He points an arm in the direction. “Just ask for her, everyone who’s been here a week knows where she is.”

“Yes, sir.” No sooner are the words out of the monster’s mouth than the general is off talking to the next monster on his list of to do’s. Not at all offended, Grillby takes WingDings to the portion of the camp the Skeleton’s have taken up residence.

“WingDings Gaster you say?” an old female skeleton asks. “I’m sorry but I’ve never heard that name before. The only WingDings I know is Doctor Aster and he hasn’t been this cute since he was a baby bones.” Affectionately, the skeleton monster clacks her skull against the child’s who receives it gracefully despite his confusion.

The sight of so many skeletons fascinates WingDings. Aside from his brothers, he’s never seen so many let alone one so anciently old.

“Is there anyone else who might know?” Grillby asks calmly, a pained look in his eyes as he gazes over their modest homes.

The elder shakes her clacking head. “Sadly there is not. Less than fifty of us are accounted for here,” she tells him solemnly.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says and even WingDings understand enough to appear sorrowful.

“Thank you young man,” she says and reaches her arms forward. “We will take care of the boy. I think this would be the best place for him.”

“Thank you elder Sylfaen Aster,” Grillby says as he puts WingDings down beside her.

Unhappy with this turn of events WingDings stumbles awkwardly into Grillby’s leg. He hasn’t walked much for six days and before that he had been bundled up in blankets, but he doesn’t care how clumsy he might be, he doesn’t want to be left with someone he doesn’t know.

“Grillby, I don’t know her,” he uses his hands to speak so he can get the words out quick enough.

“They’ll take care of you,” Grillby lowers to one knee, even then he’s still taller than the child, reaching forward to rub his head in encouragement.

Scared, but not about to show it, WingDings presses his lips firmly and nods his head. He’d been left with strangers before, but that wasn’t as scary since he knew his brothers would be back for him.

But they wouldn’t be coming here.

They couldn’t follow him here.

“Thank you Mister Grillby,” he says, politely bowing as he’d seen several other people do in a sign of respect since coming to this horrible place.

“Take care child,” Grillby says and with a pat on the back the fire monster stands to his feet and turns to face Sylfaen again. “Until another time.”

“You are always welcomed Captain,” Sylfaen says. “Is there anything else I need to know about the child?”

“River warned us not to touch his soul,” Grillby says softly, as if he’s worried that saying this will upset WingDings. It doesn’t of course since he’s well aware of the state of his fractured soul.

“River did?”

Grillby nods. “It is damaged.”

“I understand, thank you again captain,” Sylfaen bows her head as Grillby respectfully does likewise. With nothing more to say Grillby disappears into the foggy street, becoming like the glowing street lamps he passes before vanishing completely.

“Come WingDings, let’s find you a place to stay,” Sylfaen says offering her hand to him.

He reaches for it automatically and is led through the small settlement. It is dark by this time and so Sylfaen takes him to her family’s home for a hot meal. Apparently it is a favorite skeleton dish, but WingDings finds the potato soup both bland and mostly water. It might as well be water soup with one potato.

In order to remember the meal he commits the name Water Soup to memory.

After the meal, Sylfaen introduces WingDings to the three family units present. The Aster family, the Cambria family and the Georgia family. Since WingDings last name is close to the Aster name they take him in. Most of the skeletons in the Aster family unit are female, with a handful of elderly males and three children.

Sharing a small flea infested mat with the three other children, WingDings finds himself missing the warmth of Grillby. While it was difficult sleeping against someone’s chest, it by far outclassed this germ infested straw stuffed rock. He can feel the bugs crawling against his skull and imagines the sickness seeping through his bones with the numerous coughing fits his bed mates have.

But this isn’t the worst of it. When elder Sylfaen finally snuffs out the lantern in the main room adjacent to theirs, WingDings nearly loses his mind to fright when the closet sized bedroom is plunged into darkness. With everything else that has happened the darkness is what does him in. Covering his mouth, WingDings screams into the disgusting mat, trying to muffle his cry as he shakes with fear. He doesn’t understand why he has such a fear of the dark, but he’s been this way since he was born.

A gentle kick at his side stops him momentarily as one of the children, Aria, tosses and turns. “Sleep,” she mumbles from her dream, sputtering some other nonsense as she turns away from him. With shaking red eye lights, the room is lit in a soft warm glow from his magic which is only noticed when someone opens the door to the bedroom.

“WingDings do you want to be a firefly or a skeleton?” a familiar voice whispers. “You could call a swarm of them with eye lights that bright.”

Stumbling to his feet, WingDings latches onto Doctor Aster’s leg, breathing heavily and shaking like a fall leaf barely holding on.

Aster shines his own eyes with a comforting green light and picks WingDings up before closing the creaking door.

“I thought I heard something,” Sylfaen says softly, her eyes are glowing a light violet which doesn’t reach very far. She is peeking from another door beside the closet bedroom and WingDings presumes it is where the female skeletons sleep since the males are all sprawled about in the main room.

“He’s been through a lot I’m sure,” Aster whispers to her.

The elder nods and disappears from sight, expecting Aster to take care of the situation.

Using a magic hand, Aster retrieves a blanket and takes a seat at an old wooden desk, lighting a small candle stick beside him.

There is a groan from somewhere behind them and an elderly skeleton speaks up. “Must you work so late Assssterrrrrrrr,” the grumbling old timer complains.

“Someone has to earn gold,” he answers and retrieves a well used scroll from one of the compartments in the desk. He keeps WingDings close and wraps the blanket in place, securing it with one of his magic hands.

The old skeleton grumbles in complaint, but doesn’t say any more, instead turning away and facing a wall.

For a long time nothing is said, with Aster rubbing WingDings back to calm the child while writing in the ledgers of the scroll. When WingDings breath is a steady rhythm, Aster softly speaks to him. “I don’t remember being scared of the dark, but I guess that’s just one of the many things that differentiates you from me,” he says with a crooked smile.

“At first I thought you were me from my past, but then I noticed your hands.” Carefully he takes WingDings hand into his own under the blanket. He doesn’t touch the round hole with his finger, but it can be felt all the same against his bony palm. “Are you perhaps older than I am?”

Bewildered by the statement, WingDings looks up at Aster with round eyes, his eye lights no longer glowing a vibrant red. Aster chuckles at the child’s innocent expression, having his question more than adequately answered by WingDings silence.

“It’s far more complicated than that I suppose,” Aster turns his attention back to his work, but the smile is permanently plastered there. “How very . . . interesting.”

He looks down at WingDings again. “Don’t you think?”

Slowly WingDings smiles back.  Whether it is because he agrees with the statement or just from seeing the skeleton smile is unknown even to him.

The next day WingDings wakes with a stream of sunlight bouncing from the floor up into his eyes as he snuggles into Aster’s hard chest. Said doctor is leaning back dangerously in his chair, with his head slung back at an awkward angle. His mouth is open and one magic hand is mindlessly rattling against the corner of the desk, apparently stuck.

A squeaky giggle emits like a dial-up tone from WingDings throat startling Aster awake. With a yelp much like the beep of an alarm, the doctor falls from his precarious position landing loudly on the wooden floor.

“Where are they! I’ll Grind them Human’s to dust and feed their bones to the Grim Reaper myself!” Grandpa Roman jumps to his feet a bone attack at the ready in his hand. Quickly looking around the room, Roman realizes his mistake when he see’s Aster groaning on the floor and the newest member of their family giggling.

Coming to stand over the duo, Grandpa Roman glares down at them. Scared, WingDings stops giggling as Aster merely offers a handy hello to the old skeleton.

“If you didn’t have a child in your arms I’d hit you,” Roman grinds with sparking magic teeth.

“And I’d hit you too if you weren’t an old relic,” Aster answers, receiving a swift kick to his side before he can get up.

“Get out of here, I’ll take the kid,” he leans forward and helps WingDings up to his feet.

“I’m sorry sir,” WingDings bows his head.

Roman rubs his head affectionately. “War does that to you child, it isn’t your fault.”

“I don’t get a helping hand?” Aster asks, raising his hand up expectantly.

“Give yourself a hand up, you got six of them,” Roman answers and walks off to rekindle the dying flame in the fireplace.

One of the female skeletons, Aunty Cordia, WingDings thinks, is already cooking up a breakfast of haggis and bread. “Can you wake the other children WingDings, there is work to be done.”

Eager to do as he’s told, WingDings wakes the others having one of the infested bug pillows thrown at him for his efforts. The remainder of the day is a blur as he runs around with the other children buying food, cleaning clothes, and learning to read and write. He doesn’t see Aster much, only during meal times and even then he usually just takes the food and leaves. WingDings would like nothing more than his turbulent life to fall into a routine, but there is one thing standing in his way.

The random inconsistencies of other children.

                                                                                         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We'll be meeting the other children in the next chapter.


	4. Daily Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daily life in the Aster household.

For the following week WingDings becomes engrossed in cleaning. He is a nervous wreck as the others can plainly see, but they don’t stop him from his task and assume it is because, much like them, he’s dealing with some kind of loss. The only thing that stops his cleaning rampage is food, sleep, and schooling since he very much enjoys learning.

Noticing his one track mind with cleaning, the eldest child, Gisha, sets out to experiment with just how far WingDings will go. She does little things like putting rocks under the straw mat or chicken scraps under the what little furniture they have just to see if he’ll notice and clean it. To her amazement he does and for four days WingDings is unaware that Gisha is going out of her way to make his job of cleaning harder.

When he does find out what she is doing the whole skeleton settlement hears it.

“You touched mouse droppings, that’s disgusting!” WingDings screams at her. “You eat with those hands.” His hands are flailing and since he can, he’s fallen back into his font of WingDings, understood just fine by the other skeletons.

“I wiped my hands afterward,” she says crossing her arms and pointing her nasal cavity up to the ceiling.

“On the rug? That’s for dirty feet” WingDings stomps a foot. “You can get di-di-di diseases from that, even if you’re monster.”

“Disease?” she huffs. “You made that word up.”

“Did not, ask Doctor Aster!” glowing red with emotion, WingDings stomps up to her forcing the taller female to look down when he comes well within her personal bubble. “Disease is a dirty thing.”

Gisha plants her hands on her hips and goes forehead to forehead with him. “Are you calling me filthy!?”

Thrown into shock, WingDing’s takes in Gisha’s words and grows pale. “And I share a bed with you . . .” he looks absolutely horrified.

Gasping indignantly, Gisha screams, “Aunty Gulin, WingDing’s called me diseased!”

“Hey! You don’t know what that means!” WingDings screams back.

“I don’t have to!”

This is the last straw for WingDings.

He can’t survive next to filth!

Seconds later Gisha finds herself thrown into a giant pot of water with multiple small hands scrubbing her clean. Needless to say this is the very last thing the Aster family is expecting as far as child’s play goes and do their best to calm both sobbing children at the end of it. They aren’t sure who to punish since Gisha has been purposefully dirtying their hovel and WingDings was simply . . . cleaning the mess, albeit roughly when it came to young Gisha.

When Doctor Aster hears the story at the dinner table he is laughing so hard he falls out of his seat, hitting the floor with exaggerated enthusiasm. “You really are your own beast,” he bawls as WingDings watches with his own color of amusement.

Little did WingDings realize that the family typically bathes once a week and so they chose that night to get the dirty deed done. Since Aster earns the most gold he goes first followed by Aunty Gulin and so on and so forth. The children are last and since WingDings is the youngest he is the very last.

By that time the water is filthy, with grey particles floating on top of a murky brown collection of filth and grime.

“I can’t bathe in that!” he wails as Cordia snags his arm and attempts to undress him. “This is torture! Child Abuse! Scandal!”

Close by Aster is snickering under his breath as an exhausted Cordia tries her best to subdue the child without hurting him. “Why don’t you come over here and actually be helpful,” she tells the snickering teenager.

“No, dear sister, I’d say you have this under control,” Doctor Aster encourages as she flings off the boys grubby vest.

“But he’s named after you, dear brother!” Cordia seethes as she grabs the boy around his ribs and pulls his leather wrapping of his feet.

WingDing’s screams in a tone that makes everyone in the house cover their ears as the child makes a mad dash for the front door. When he’s two steps away from escape his soul turns blue and he falls flat on his face.

“Do you want to get clean or not?” Gulin asks with a glowing blue hand. She is in the middle of helping young Gadugi put his long sleep shirt on.

“I’ll just be dirtier,” tears come to WingDings eyes as the boy succumbs to every four year old’s weakness. Overrun with tiredness and too many emotions to cram in a small body he cries his little soul out.

“He does have a point,” Aster says as they watch the quiet tears of the boy when he is carefully deposited with blue magic back to Cordia’s hands. “And can you please release his soul I don’t think that’s healthy for him.”

“Well what do you suggest we do then?” Antiqua asks from the desk where she is mending some of the children’s clothing.

Summoning his magic hands Aster picks up the pail of water and opens the front door. The family watches in shock as the teenage doctor dumps the old water and disappears from sight. Half an hour later Aster returns with the pail filled with hot clean water.

“Are you spoiling him?” Cordia asks, narrowing her gaze at her brother as she pulls the last of WingDing’s clothing from his back and plunks him into the hot water.

Aster shrugs and says, “He’s right about the germs, it would be best if we all took clean baths more often”

WingDings doesn’t respond much as he is cleaned, but his soft smile has returned while his eyes remain half lidded. As Cordia cleans the boy she stops when she catches a glimpse of his soul through the bones of his rib cage. Dropping her clean rag she takes a closer look before he cheek bones become a sickly green color. “Brother is he ill?” she asks in a hush, trying to remain stoic, but the fear is evident.

Those present can feel her unease as if it were crawling down their own spines and look at her in concern. Remaining calm, Aster kneels beside her and studies the shreds of the soul bared within WingDings. What the doctor sees fascinates him. Unlike a normal Monster soul which is typically a white upside down heart, WingDings is red and sits upright with the fragments of a blinding white soul swimming freely within it.

“He’s fine,” Aster tells them, standing to his feet.

“WingDings!” Cordia turns towards her brother aghast by his calm statement and outright lie, but her sharp words wake the dozing boy in the tub. She is directing the name WingDings at her brother, not the boy in her arms, but he doesn’t know that. “I may not be a Doctor but I know he is not fine.”

Confused, WingDings turns to face Cordia assuming she is talking to him. “I’m sorry,” the young boy says, assuming he’s done something wrong and needs to make it right.

Cordia turns back to the child and shakes her head. “No, no child, you’ve done nothing wrong,” she assures him, doing her best to shield him from her concern. WingDings can sense it but doesn’t say anything as he finds the cloth she dropped and returns it to her.

“He’s unique, that is all,” Aster assures everyone. “I’m sure River would have said more if it were serious.”

Nearly having fallen asleep Elder Sylfaen perks up at the mention of River’s name. “You spoke with Grillby didn’t you,” she says, having not bothered to tell anyone in the household about Rivers warning.

“Well someone had to heat the water for me,” Aster replies and makes for the front door, disappearing into the chilly night air before anyone can hold him up with more questions.

Silence reigns in the Aster home until it is broken by WingDings. “You don’t have to worry,” he tells them. “I’m okay.”

Putting on a brave smile Cordia agrees with the child, “Of course you are,” she says and finishes her task.

The following days fall into a comfortable routine again as they work together to scratch out a living in the royal camp. There is rumor that the Royal family wants to move the skeletons to a walled monster city, but with the weather the way it is they can’t risk moving such a large group of civilians safely.

While rumors float about his head, WingDings focuses on the biggest issue in his small mind, that of living with so many people in a small three room house and one of those rooms barely qualifies as a room. There are eighteen of them in all and while the adults are fairly good at keeping busy and out of each others way Aria, Gadugi, and Gisha are always bothering him.

At least he thinks they are.

“WingDings it’s your turn to help Kokila with the mending,” Gisha calls to him from across the room. The nine year old doesn’t need to shout, but she does so anyway since WingDings didn’t respond the first two times she tried getting his attention.

“I’m busy,” he shouts back, glaring at the slab of wood he’s using to write on with a thin stub of charcoal.

“No you aren’t, you’re just drawing pictures,” Gisha informs him smartly. While it is true that he is drawing pictures, the font of WingDings just so happens to be made up of pictures.

“Am not!” WingDings shouts.

“Are too!” Gisha screams.

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

The argument ends with Grandpa Roman knocking their thick skulls together and sending them out into the camp with a list of things to buy.

On another occasion WingDings is minding his own business working on a complicated addition problem of his own design when Aria and Gadugi take a seat beside him. They watch in fascination as he adds the numbers that are longer than their own names.

“Why did you put a little two on top of the three?” Aria asks sweetly when he finishes adding the first column of six numbers. After all seven rows would be excessive.

“Because I got twenty-six in my ones column and I need to carry,” WingDings answers quickly, trying to stay focused on counting the numbers in his ten’s column.

“What’s a 1’s column?” Aria asks as Gadugi leans forward to see the numbers better and thus blocking WingDings view. He is convinced the male that is two years older than himself is half blind if he thinks he has to get this close to see.

“It’s the first column I just added,” WingDings snaps.

“What’s this column called?” Aria asks.

“The ten’s column, Gadugi you’re blocking me,” WingDings tries to lean around Gadugi’s head, but the six year old simply nudges his head against his with a beaming grin.

“Why ten’s column?” Aria asks scrunching her bony brow towards the center of her face. “Shouldn’t it be 2’s column.”

“No, that doesn’t make any sense,” WingDings whines.

“Sure it does,” she says confidently and begins to point to the top number of each column. “This would be 1’s column, 2’s column, 3’s column, 4’s column, 5’s column, and 6’s column.”

As her tiny pointer bone slides across the charcoal numbers, it smudges the carefully written numbers.

“Ah, you smudged my numbers!” WingDings cries in horror.

“They look more like drawings than numbers to me,” Gadugi says with a knowing grin.

Having put up with more than the average four year old already, WingDings loses it and proceeds to remove the other children from his person by using his magic hands to put them on the roof of their lowly shack. Aria sobs her five year old soul out while Gadugi summons a small bone and pelts WingDings skull with it.

WingDings and Gadugi are the only ones punished with WingDings receiving the worst of it since he is the one who put them on the roof. He receives a quick slap to the behind, something he has never experienced before, and has to pluck a chicken. The boy cries softly for the remainder of the day wondering why he’s so bad all of the sudden.

Back home his big brothers never punish him by spanking him, maybe going to his room or not having dessert, but never a spanking.

For a few days WingDings is extremely careful with the way he acts around the other children, the clever baby bones figuring out enough to realize that his troubles typical stem from his new ‘siblings’. But he can’t account for everything that might happen in a day no matter how hard he tries.

One day the skeleton children are round up, all ten of them in the skeleton community, and are brought to the market with the women who are looking to buy them material for some summer clothing. For the most part the baby bones are left to their own devices as long as they stay in sight of at least one of the females. At one point the handful of children stop to study a large horse who is being fitted with a new saddle.

As they watch the beautiful animal the children take turns petting the creature and trying to talk to it. The sight is adorable to the monsters passing by who are heavy laden with the troubles of war. Everything is going fine until the animal inevitably poops releasing an awful smell and a few bug eyes from the young spectators.

“What is that? It came from its butt,” a skeleton child with no tact shouts pointing at the mound of sloop.

“Its poop,” WingDings answers in a bored way before sending a glare in Gisha’s direction. “Like the stuff you touched last week.”

The young girls gasp and look at Gisha appalled.

“I, I did not!” she shouts.

“Do you know what mouse droppings are?” WingDings asks, firmly crossing his arms over his front.

“That is nothing like mouse droppings!” Gisha cries, pointing at the culprit as if it should be punished for a crime.

“Well mice are smaller,” WingDings shrugs. If she wants to get upset about it that’s her problem, he’s just telling her the truth.

One of the boys giggles, “And it came from its butt.”

“Right,” WingDings says proudly.

With tears in her eyes, Gisha runs away crying, with her friends giving chase and throwing comforting words to her. Those children who are left either give WingDings a pat on the back or continue staring at the horse with a new kind of awe and respect.

“Why do they poop?” Aria asks, ever the curious one. A typical five year old unlike the shrimp of a strange four year old standing smugly beside her.

“Because they don’t eat magic and aren’t made of magic,” WingDings answers. “Grass, nuts, and other stuff come from the ground and their bodies have to get rid of what it doesn’t need, which leaves that.”

“Would we do that if we ate grass?” Aria asks, not at all disgusted by what she is asking.

WingDings isn’t bothered either even as the other three remaining skeleton children around them shift from one leg to the other nervously. This conversation is bizarre and feels like something their parents wouldn’t appreciate.

“We could, but it could make us sick,” WingDings says. “It is horse food not skeleton food.”

“WingDings!” On cue Aunty Cordia appears, holding a sobbing Gisha close to her side. The look of frustration and disappointment from Cordia’s face is enough to make tears bead in the corner of WingDings eye sockets.

Taking him by the back of the skull, akin to taking a child by the ear, Cordia marches WingDings back home and makes him pluck another chicken. At least she doesn’t give the child a spanking, but he feels it nonetheless as he works on the disgusting dead animal’s feathers.

“You must be an only child,” Doctor Aster chuckles as he holds WingDings in his lap. The young doctor is writing in his ledgers again, late into the night. Recently WingDings has been able to sleep with the others, keeping a glowing hand close to his head, but sometimes he’ll stay with Aster, especially when it’s been an exceptionally trying day.

“I have two brothers,” WingDings tells him.

“But they aren’t close to your age,” Aster replies knowingly.

WingDings doesn’t respond finding the doctors response to be quite true.

“You’ll get used to it,” Aster tells him. “You might even come to like them.”

The child makes a face, his normal smile replaced with a disbelieving frown and pinched nasal cavity, as if he’s smelled something horrible, like horse dung. And he knows what that smells like quite clearly.

Seeing it makes Aster chuckle again, “Now I’m getting a better idea of what my sister had to endure growing up with me.”

                                                    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first installment is almost finished and you’re either really confused or just putting up with me. In which case thank you so much. Or maybe you are able to get the gist of what’s happening to WingDings without my having to say much. The last chapter should clear some things up though and set the stage for the rest of this series. And boy is there a lot. Thanks for reading, gunna go hide under a rock again till next week.


	5. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I answer some mysteries? Maybe? Jury’s still out.

As the weeks pass, things get a little easier for WingDings. He still endures quite a few disagreements with his new siblings, mainly Gisha who has it out for him, but they offer him a companionship he’s never experienced before in his young life. He’s used to dealing with adults, but rarely has he been forced to spend more than a few hours with those his own age.

When the days become warmer the skeletons begin packing up what little they have to move to the capital. They are filled with hope once more, which is nice, but WingDings can’t feel what they do. It’s moments like these when he especially misses home.

And it doesn’t help when his very soul feels like it’s reaching out for something. Something outside the Royal camp he’s been confined within for the past two months.

“We’re finally going to be safe!” Aria tells him as he’s set on Cordia’s lap in the back of a wagon.

“Yeah,” WingDings says with the same soft smile he always wears.

Aria’s joy is smothered a little by his modest display at happiness. “Aren’t you happy?” she asks.

“Yeah,” WingDings answers with the same plastered grin.

Narrowing an eye at him, Aria turns to look at Antiqua who is holding her. “Is he lying?” she asks the young female. “Lying is wrong.”

“I’m sure he just wants you to be happy,” Antiqua answers with a small smile of her own. “Isn’t that right WingDings?”

The boy nods and it is enough to appease Aria.

“Is this everything?” a familiar crackling voice asks from behind them.

“Mister Grillby,” WingDings chimes, forgetting that the fire elemental will be unable to understand him with his WingDings font. The other skeletons chuckle as Grillby smiles sheepishly, clearly not understanding the child, but not about to let it show.

Realizing his mistake, WingDings takes a moment to find the words and tries again more softly and carefully. “Hello, Mister Grillby,” he says and the other skeletons look at him in surprise. They have not heard him speak a more common dialect before this point. He didn’t bother since he didn’t have to.

“Hello child,” Grillby greets in turn.

“WingDings, I didn’t know you could speak with Comic Sans,” Aria says with shining eyes.

A small red blush pinches WingDings bone cheeks as he nods.

“Who on this earth taught you that font?” Cordia asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a skeleton with that name.”

“He’s my brother,” WingDings answers, signing it out for Grillby’s benefit.

It takes a second or two but the adults to offer the child solemn smiles. “He must have been a wonderful brother,” Antiqua tells him.

While tempted to roll his eye lights, WingDings doesn’t correct them since he doesn’t even know how to explain it.

“We’ll be setting out shortly,” Grillby says as he moves along.

“Aren’t we lucky to have such a strong young elemental keeping us company,” Gulin says on the other side of the wagon, saying it loud enough to be heard. The fire elemental’s fiery hair sparks to life and his head briefly shows purple and blue, which fascinates WingDings.

After Grillby scurries away the female skeletons in the wagon giggle and laugh while Gadugi makes a look of disgust.

Accompanied by a large troop of soldiers, the skeleton family makes for the capital which is a two weeks journey. WingDings isn’t used to such long road trips and is feeling anxious for reasons he doesn’t understand. All he knows is that his soul aches. He is the first cranky rider of the troop, giving the ancient Roman a run for his money.

“I don’t feel good Doctor Aster,” WingDings tells Aster that night as they make camp. He rams his head into the crock of the doctor’s arm, letting out a low whine of discontent.

“I’m sure it’s just the bumpy road getting to you,” Aster says, putting his stylus down in favor of patting the youngsters head.

“My soul aches,” he grumbles.

Aster’s eye lights narrow in concern and he clacks his teeth. “Can I have a look at it?” he asks.

WingDings nods his consent and Aster guides the boy to sit in front of him, pulling his shirt up from the back so he can reach the child’s soul. Typically, when an adult summons his soul, they do it from the front, so WingDings is a little confused by this change in protocol. Trusting Aster, the boy doesn’t comment or complain when he feels the gentle pull of his soul as it is released from its cage.

“It’s glowing white around the red proxy soul,” Aster tells him, letting the soul float back to its home after his quick inspection. “Aside from that it feels healthy enough. Do you know what the white glow means?”

“It means a piece is close by,” WingDings replies, growing excited. He’d nearly forgotten . . . okay, no, he clearly forgot the reason he was here in this world to begin with. He’d thought it was possibly not here, but it was. “I’ll get to go home!”

Although Aster doesn’t understand what the child is saying he still smiles at the sight of such genuine enthusiasm from the boy. “You don’t say.”

“You should be asleep,” Grillby’s voice interrupts with a hissing crack. “Both of you.”

“Now Grillby, are you not aware that great minds like ours never sleep?” Doctor Aster replies, leaning back haughtily on his lanky arms.

“Mister Grillby I’m going home!” WingDings tells him enthusiastically with his hands.

Surprised by such a declaration, Grillby looks to Aster for an explanation, but the teenager only shrugs his shoulders.

Before either male can say anything to the child, WingDings turns to look into the woods, hearing a voice call his name. Hearing the voice, fills the small skeleton with determination and he bolts into the darkness with such enthusiasm Aster is left to wonder what happened to the boy’s fear. The night skies twinkling stars act as the childs only light as he stomps through the soggy ground and the slush of melting snow.

Calling out in alarm, Grillby and Aster make chase but cannot keep up with the child as he magically shifts from one location to another as he follows a voice only he can hear.

WingDings doesn’t stop until he is face to face with a small cloaked figure who is holding a lantern high above their heads.

“Frisk!” WingDings cries and flings himself at the twelve year old hero who is waiting with an open arm. They smile down at him, holding him close and telling him that he’s in big trouble when they get home, but Frisk includes how thankful they are of his safety.

“WingDings!”

Frisk’s head snaps up when Grillby and Aster come into the clearing. Aster looks at the human in a stupor, while Grillby is inching forward with a hand clutching the hilt of his blade. A detail Frisk isn’t about to miss.

“Human,” Grillby’s voice is low and edged with a crisp snap that would make burning trees fall at the sound of it. “Release the child.”

Frisk doesn’t back down, lifting their head proudly. With a voice that shakes far more than they appreciate Frisk tells the men that they need to go back to the skeleton family. There is an army of humans planning to ambush them at dawn. If they leave now they might be able to save everyone.

Woken from his stupor, the doctor speaks up, stepping forward with the light of curiosity flickering in his eye. “WingDings do you know this human?” he asks.

“I do, they’re the hero,” WingDings answers fluently and without hesitation.

Blushing at the baby bones honesty, Frisk discreetly attempts to reach into a pouch on their belt, an action that makes Grillby unsheathe his blade. Not wishing to start a fight Frisk raises their hands and tells WingDings to take the item out of the pouch for them.

Immediately, he does as he’s told and carefully cups the sliver of white in his dainty fingers. A second later he looks up at Frisk with the largest most hopeful eyes they have ever seen on his round face. They are both filled with determination.

“Home?” he asks.

Frisk nods their head.

Rather than allow Frisk to return the shattered piece of his soul, WingDings first turns towards the two men and pleads with them. “Please go back, they need you,” the child begs the men. “You have to take care of them.”

This is all it takes to make Grillby lower his sword. Beside him Aster takes the fire elemental’s arm and pulls at it expectantly. “We need to go,” he tells the soldier. “This is where WingDings belongs.” The doctor has no since first he laid eyes on the child that he is not from their world.

For a second or two Grillby debates with himself, but he finally sheaths his sword. Giving Frisk one last glare that sends a burning chill down their spine before he races off. Aster makes off after him, but not before turning to ask. “You’ll take care of him won’t you?”

Frisk smiles and answers with a calm assured yes.

With a kooky smile of his own the teenage doctor leaves, letting Frisk focus on the child skeleton in front of them. He holds the piece of his soul close as Frisk moves to unbutton his coat and shirt so they can reach his soul.

“Will they be okay?” WingDings asks, cupping the shard as if he’s holding a delicate gem made of glass.

While Frisk’s smile might be confused as a straight line, it is still brimming with hope as the hero tells him that everything will turn out as it should.

Carefully taking his soul, Frisk returns the piece of white, placing it in the protective pool of determination. As soon as Frisk returns the soul to WingDings chest there is a flash of white, before blackness envelops them both. Frisk can feel WingDing’s cling to them as he panics and they hold him all the tighter.

“How do we get home,” his small voice quivers, almost as if it is snatched up by the void, hungry for its old companion to return.

Whispering close to his head Frisk tells him to just think of home and those dear to him.

In a flash of red, they find themselves dumped onto Sans who is lounged out fully on their old green couch.

“Ooff,” he complains in his guttural tone as WingDings and Frisk cling to the round hard skeleton for all they’re worth. Frisk doesn’t want to end up on the floor if they can help it. “I’m awake, really I am. Can’t help it if I’m . . . __bone tired__  all the time.”

Giggling under their breath Frisk informs Sans that his bone tired pun is overused and __un-humerus__.

“Hey kid, decide to __drop__ on by?” Sans asks. “Or did you just want to get the __drop__ on me?”

“SANS!” Papyrus stomps around the kitchen evidently making his way towards them. “You’ll wake WingDings with those horrid puns!”

As soon as Papyrus’s head appears Frisk and WingDings wave to him, WingDings doing so more sheepishly.

Momentarily tongue tied, Papyrus blinks at the sight before crossing his arms and eyeing WingDings with suspicion. “And why, might I ask, is a small baby bones like you out of bed? Moreover I was under the impression that Toriel taught you better, Frisk.”

Scratching the back of their head, Frisk tries to think of how they’re going to explain all this, but they are cut off when WingDings flings himself at Papyrus crying his little heart out and asking for his forgiveness. Also something about plucking a chicken? The sight is adorable so Frisk waits for the young child to calm down before attempting to explain to the skelebrother’s what their little brother has been up to.

Off on an adventure that will become the norm for the young WingDings Gaster.

                                                                      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s the prologue/introduction of the Shattered Soul Series that I’ve been constructing for two years now. Basically ‘First Steps’ just throws you into my idea without explaining much of anything aside from WingDings being a child, traveling to other worlds/times, and finding missing pieces of his soul. As this long story unfolds more mysteries will be revealed.
> 
> This first story is rather short and simple, but thank you for taking the time to read it. If you like cute child WingDings mixed in with some little adventures along the way than I can easily promise more of that. As he grows up though the series will become less cute/slice of life and more of a drama/adventure with a few dark moments. I’ll begin posting the following story next week and will try to keep with my Friday posting schedule.
> 
> Even if only one person reads this series, I’ll post it for you. Thanks again.


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